


Cold

by Sys



Series: Food & Drink related one shots [10]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 12:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16833025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sys/pseuds/Sys
Summary: I've decided to write a little series of food & drink related one shots for various fandoms. This is one of them. :)





	Cold

I shall never forget the day when I found that my old friend could get sick as the rest of us do. It was a dreary day in late November and he had, as is his habit, pursued his latest case with every resource at his disposal. Long nights in the cold, little sleep and rapid, irregular meals had weakened him, and I couldn’t rule out that he had managed to replace the cocaine I took, while I was out seeing to my patients. Now Holmes has, on occasion, exaggerated a wound or sickness as a successful ploy against an enemy. But in this instance, he couldn’t even muster the strength to shoo me from his side.   
Nor could he, in his state, be expected to rise and partake in a meal outside of his room. Now Mrs. Hudson would not shrink from the task to see to my sick friend if he needed her assistance. But I preferred to spare her for as long as I could.   
‘I can take this upstairs with your good wishes for his health,” I proposed and she studied me in silence for a moment, before she nodded her consent.   
‘Is he very ill, doctor?’  
‘He will mend. But you know that he cannot bear to be idle. It has rather soured his temper, I’m afraid.’  
Being unable to shoo me from his side had caused him to tell me that perhaps it was time for me to find different lodgings, so I did not wish to find out how he might abuse poor Mrs. Hudson for caring about his wellbeing.   
When I returned to his side, carrying a tray of chicken broth and some nice, hot tea, he had turned over to study the wall. His silence prompted me to consider that he might be asleep, and I set down the tray. It is, however, unusual for him to sleep soundlessly, so my suspicion was that he avoided talking to me in an effort to make me leave him. I considered replacing the used handkerchiefs with the washed ones I had brought back, and follow his wishes. But there was little hope that he would eat and drink by himself, if he failed to study the newspaper for anything that might be of interest to him.  
‘You need to eat,” I told him, hoping to break him out of his sullen mood. For a moment I wasn’t sure if he had heard me, for nothing about him betrayed any reaction. But when I reached for his shoulder, he turned to face me. There was something in his eyes that concerned me greatly. And I couldn’t tell what it is.   
‘I’m sorry for what I said, Watson,’ he whispered urgently, as he grasped my hand, increasing my concerns for his health. ‘I do not want you to go.’  
‘I won’t,’ I reassured him and he let go, allowing me to take the tray closer and help him sit up. _Not while you need me._


End file.
